


Heavy on the Bough

by velvetcadence



Series: Bleat [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Fauns & Satyrs, Fisting, Fluff, Goaty Shenanigans, Lactation Kink, M/M, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Squirting, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a successful spring, Charles and Erik are together in domestic bliss and expecting a goatling or two.</p><p>Or, just because Charles is heavily pregnant doesn't mean the sex has gotten any less good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy on the Bough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GQD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GQD/gifts).



> I’ve borrowed “tidbit” from Elbatross, and in this 'verse it's a phenonemon where satyrs fuss over their mates, sometimes much to the faun's consternation. “Nanny” is an impolite term for a doe. “Yearlings” are year-old goats. Satyrs and fauns are still male and female from the waist down respectively. I know more about goaty mating and pregnancy than I care to. 
> 
> Friendly reminder that urine is sterile. Just saying. Goats are still kinky as fuck. Thank you to my homegirl Kageillusionz for getting me out a particularly finicky scene.

Autumn is sweeping away the heat of summer, bringing with it the crisp scent of harvest. Charles places both hands on his belly and smiles at the thought of little hooves gracing the den in just a little while. _Soon_ , his mind whispers. _Soon._ He had been to Emma’s cozy little home just this morning and she was similarly swollen—just as far along as Charles was and grumpier about the aches and pains from it.

“I don’t see why you’re in such a temper, my dear,” Charles had told her. “Think how wonderful it will be once the little one comes along.”

“Ah, Charles, as if I could feel anymore disgusted with the world. Have you always been in such good spirits?”

“Just since I got my satyr to fuck the bad ones out of me.”

The glib reply worked. Emma broke into peals of laughter, and Charles smiled as he deftly looped the last of the summer blooms together into a makeshift crown. “Never change, darling.”

“Of course, dear Emma.” It was his favorite thing about her. She had a crass sense of humor for all that she looked so fine and faun.

Unfortunately, her good temper only lasted up until her teats began to overflow with milk, dripping down her belly. “Ugh, just look at this,” she scoffed, weighing one heavy breast on hand and letting it fall back down. “Does it ever bother you?”

Charles flushed, remembering the last time his mate had attended to him with soft, slick strokes of his tongue and powerful sucks. He’d been aching all day and absentmindedly squeezing beads of watery fluid out of his nipples, and Erik had practically salivated. “Erik likes it.”

“Of course he does,” she murmured dryly, wiping herself down with a soft cloth. “Scott frets, and it’s such a bore.”

“Is it really?”

“I can’t stand to let him touch me,” Emma said. “And he irritates me when he tidbits. So at the end of the day we’re always headbutting.”

“I’m sure he just wants what’s best for you.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Emma sighed, reaching over to grasp Charles’ hand. “I’m glad you haven’t tired of me yet, dear.”

“I’ve known you since we were yearlings and I’ll know you ‘til we’re dried up little nannies bleating abuse on our mates.”

“Shame on your mouth!” She had laughed, Charles playfully bumping her shoulder with his.

Thinking about this morning is making his chest ache once more. Erik had tried to explain the appeal of a milking doe, how it smelled like sweetness and home, but the satyr had only ended up nuzzling and scenting, his words lost in Charles’ fragrant skin. It wasn’t until Charles had been to Emma’s that he’d understood. It _was_ erotic, the vision of a faun flushed and round, practically dripping with fecundity. Her milk did smell sweet, like Erik said, but it was mild and Charles still has no idea what it is about it that drives Erik mad.

No matter. Perhaps it’s one of Erik’s stranger quirks. Charles lies on the bedding in the corner and tries not to leak through the cloths, but it’s so difficult when his stomach feels so heavy and his body so cumbersome. He thinks he might be carrying more than one kid. Twins are fine, and triplets are common. Quadruplets aren’t unheard of, but Charles hopes that he won’t have more kids than he can nurse at one time.

He’s glad to be home. After his visit to Emma, he’d chanced upon an unmated satyr that bared his teeth at the sight of him.

“Look at what we have here,” the satyr had said. “Ripe for the picking.”

“Stay back,” Charles warned. The buck had ignored him and stomped closer. Charles could feel his body locking up in his anxiety, but the wind picked up and carried Charles’ scent over to him. Erik had pissed on him before he’d escorted him to Emma’s, drenched the fur of his legs and rotund belly and cunt with his claim so that no satyr nor faun could ever mistake him as anyone else’s. In the glen, the satyr had paused, his nostrils flaring. Charles stood his ground, ready to defend himself with tooth and horn if need be, but the buck retreated back into the foliage, and Charles had hurried home in the other direction, his heart pounding.

Erik will be home soon. Erik will hold him in his strong arms and claim Charles again with his touch, soothing the worry away. In any other state, Charles wouldn’t be so agitated, but the pregnancy has rewired his senses to twitch at any possible threat. How much worse could it be for Erik, whose satyr make naturally thrums with violence and bloodlust?

Just the thought of Erik’s ferocity has Charles muffling his bleating into the pillow, his tail flagging from increasing excitement. He’d seen Erik cross horns with another buck just once, when he’d still been dazed on the grass from mating and a rogue had wanted Charles for himself. Erik had given a great hunting roar and pinned the rival to a tree, knocking him out simply with the force of his rage. It was over in under a minute, but it was enough to get Charles heating again, begging for another fuck. Erik had bred him long and hard in clear view of the other satyr, making it perfectly clear who held thrall here.

“Ooh…” Charles moans, starting to slick. “Oh, Erik.” He clenches his thighs together and pinches his wet, pebbled nipples, turning his face to the bedding so he can scent his mate through the cloth. It feels like his first fertile heat never left him, spring carrying on over to summer and now fall, always smoldering in his womb and his cunt so that he always feels ready for a fuck, one that his satyr mate is always keen to deliver on.

He’s so far-gone in his arousal he doesn’t notice it when Erik enters through the hidden door of their den, drops his rucksack and makes it straight to the corner where he’s writhing against the bedding.

“Charles,” his mate growls, and the faun only has enough sense to turn to Erik’s warmth and drape his limbs over him, pulling him closer. He’s almost sobbing with the incandescent need to be mated, roughly, gently, however Erik wants it and is willing to give it. He’s frantically bleating all these things, making a great fool of himself until Erik gathers the skin of his nape between his teeth, not enough to inspire blood, but just enough so Charles gets ahold of himself.

* * *

The last thing Erik expects to scent when he gets home is an aroused mate, but it’s what he finds: Charles, fevered and heated from pregnancy, one arm curved behind him to reach his pleasure and the other pinching his full teat. His thighs are twitching and pressed together, and Erik wants to mount him just like that, on his side, half-crazed.

Instead, he twines his fingers through the faun’s thick head of hair and _pulls_ , and when that only incenses Charles, Erik bares his teeth and bites the back of his neck hard enough for it to count. Charles stills, breathing heavily, and Erik knows he’s gentled when a hand comes up and blindly pats at Erik’s shoulder.

Erik makes a low sound and licks at the teeth marks, nosing now into Charles’ ear, making him huff. The skin by Charles’ horns smell nice and musky, and when he carefully suckles at a spot, the faun bleats, his tail wagging eagerly against Erik’s front. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since...Since I got home. I started thinking about you and I couldn’t stop.” Charles sounds slurred, like he’s been drunk on strong wine. It’s utterly delightful, to have him grasping at speech so stubbornly when all he looks like he wants to do is crouch and have Erik sink into him all the way to the root.

“Is that so?” Erik rumbles, deep in his chest the way he knows gets Charles bleating like a lost faunling. His prick has started to stir from its sheath, nudging the small of Charles’ back. There will be time enough to properly store the hard-earned meat from his hunt. Right now his faun is moaning, pressing back, and Erik takes care to gather his mate to his chest while they’re on their sides, his hand warm and possessive over the curve of Charles’ belly.

He captures his mouth in a warm kiss—open, slick, tongues nudging and slipping and tasting—while his hand travels down past the navel and the soft fur of Charles’ nether bits, down to the spot that makes Charles cry out and jerk.

He’s already so wet he’s practically dripping. Erik groans and slips a finger in, revelling in the furnace of Charles’ body.

It never stops to further arouse him, watching Charles greedily take in his fingers. Erik would be lying if he says he never considered slipping his thumb in alongside his fingers, and then maybe go in just that little bit further until Charles is clamped down around his wrist, moaning and delirious with pleasure.

“Please,” Charles gasps, his legs twitching wth want, the sound of his tail thumping against Erik’s thigh loud. His poor little faun must be so desperate to be filled…something Erik is sure he can help with. “I can’t—I need you in me now.” Then Erik’s thumb presses into his clit. Charles cries out, shivering.

“Hush,” Erik soothes, mouth curving a kiss into the plush apple of Charles’ cheek, ranging over the faun and adding to the heat of the nest. One more finger dips in, then two, then three and Charles moans as he’s opened up and stretched impossibly wide.

It’s too much. Erik must have him _now_. He pushes Charles’ thigh apart and sinks in deep, just as a trickle of milk flows over the curve of the faun’s engorged chest into the bedding. The sight makes the satyr bellow and fuck like he’s back in rut. It isn’t as rough as it could be, not in this position and with Charles carrying kids, but it’s definitely firm enough that there’s no room for thought.

“Erik! Erik! Ah—”

Charles is clenching and twitching around him, sent to orgasm by the rocking motion of Erik’s fuck and the constant press of fingers against his clit. Still, Erik doesn’t stop, far from satisfied, although he transfers his hand from Charles’ sex to his nipples in deference to sensitivity, squeezing at the swollen skin and coaxing out even more beads of milk.

The faun doesn’t protest when Erik drags him up into a kneeling position, resting on his elbows and spreading his furred legs wide, his tail flagging up and eager. Erik leaves a kiss on the tip of Charles’ ear, paradoxically gentle for all that his cock is pistoning in and out of his cunt.

Erik curses in the Old Tongue when Charles comes around him after a particularly vigorous flex, squirting clear slick down their legs and nearly sobbing from the force of his orgasm. Erik loves it when he can undo Charles likes this, brought so far into the delirious throes of pleasure. The squelch of their mating is obscene and loud, and Erik’s fingers squeeze so hard around Charles’ fleshy hips they’ll probably bruise.

He spills deep into Charles’ like this, hips stuttering uncontrollably. When he’s done, Erik pisses inside him again just to hear his breathy gasp.

“By the gods,” Charles whimpers, wrung out. They’re both still trembling when Erik withdraws and lays back beside him. It’s too warm to cuddle, but they’re lazy enough for it not to matter, and Charles’ palm makes a slow circuit around Erik’s furry chest, gently petting. They doze for a good while, breaths synchronizing into a steady rhythm.

Charles only rouses when he feels Erik’s fingers running through the soft fur down his groin, gently tugging and twisting the strands.

“You’re so wet and loose I could put my whole hand in you if I wanted to,” The satyr murmurs.

“Why don’t you?” Charles says sleepily, and Erik is baited enough by the challenge in the faun’s voice. Three fingers slip in easily, aided by Charles’ slick and Erik’s seed. When they reach the last knuckle, the faun writhes deliciously, his eyes half-open and dark from arousal. Erik kisses his soft knee and slings it over one broad shoulder, hooking two fingers inside Charles and rubbing _just right_ , making him wet enough to squelch.

Erik has never fisted anyone before, but he’s seen it done. It’s a simple enough technique: tuck your thumb in, shape your fingers like a duck’s beak, be gentle, but Erik isn’t prepared for the way Charles yields completely around his hand, pink cunt warm and supple, squeezing around all five fingers where they’re crammed together up to the first knuckle.

“Fuck, Charles,” Erik curses, and in response the faun can only manage a low bleat. Erik withdraws and tries again, adjusting his mate so that his thighs are spread the widest he can go. It is slow work, but it’s pleasurable all the same. Charles opens steadily under him,  sighing whenever the tip of Erik’s fingers kisses him down there, and the sigh evolves into a groan when Erik pushes and twists with gentle intensity. Once the widest part of his hand pushes through, the inner walls of Charles’ sex ripples, drawing him in up to the wrist. The faun lets out a loud cry, clenching around Erik’s hand, hips flexing like he’s coming.

There’s sweat pouring down Erik’s temples, but his earlier meticulousness is worth how Charles seems to glow with lust, his mouth open with surprise. “Are you…” He bends his head to look, but his belly gets in the way.

In lieu of a response, Erik spreads his fingers gently, and Charles’ thighs twitch with electric pleasure.

“Erik,” Charles whispers, trying to reach for his hand. “I feel...ohh...so full…” The look on his face is nothing less than euphoric, and Erik moves his hand from side to side in tiny increments, hypnotized by the way Charles reacts to the smallest movement.

It’s intimate and slow, and just being able to do this leaves Erik in awe. His heart might burst with how much he loves Charles, how much he appreciates the gift of his vulnerability. Charles’s frame is wracked with tiny tremors, and before long, he’s coming again, almost crying with how intense it is. Erik has to hush him again, running his palm over his firm belly, keeping him steady. Charles calms down after a long moment, combing his sweaty curls back from his forehead and regarding Erik with love-drunk eyes.

Erik lets a growl rumble through his chest, kissing Charles’ knee and wishing he could kiss his mouth instead. _Why not?_ Erik wonders, setting Charles’ leg down from his shoulder. Careful not to jolt the hand sheathed in Charles’ cunt, he reaches up to kiss his mate. Despite this, Charles bleats from the difference in the angle in Erik’s wrist, gasping as it presses onto spots that make his eyes go blind for a moment, and he’s thrown into orgasm again. It’s wet this time, the kind that starts from his belly and warms his limbs, the kind that makes his hips tremble like an earthquake as it gushes hot slick onto Erik’s arm and the bedding. He’s limp and wrung out by the end of it, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Erik withdraws his hand tenderly and rests his weight on his heels, using his drenched hand to pump his prick, letting the sight of Charles like this burn into his mind. He comes in no time at all.

Charles is already sleeping when he readjusts them, gathering the faun in his arms so that he can sweep his hand down Charles’ body from shoulder to hip. Charles is easily the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen; his smile brightens even the dreariest of days. The satyrling (or faunling, as his mate is fond of reminding Erik) in Charles’ belly is stirring, and Erik presses against the spot that may have held the imprint of a tiny hoof.

“Your dam is sleeping, little one,” he reminds it. “Be still.”

The kid kicks again, gentler this time, before settling. Erik leaves only so he can store the meat and make sure the den is properly secure before slipping back to bed, dreaming of goatlings with Charles’ eyes and Charles’ smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Holla at my [tumblr](http://velvetcadence.tumblr.com). Comments are love!


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